“Your father took money from my uncle ten years ago,” Damiano said. “When my uncle died, I inherited his ledgers.”

“We don’t have that kind of money,” I whispered. “Marcus knows about this, doesn’t he?”

Damiano nodded once.

“Marcus is using his political pull to squeeze my businesses,” Damiano said. “He wants to force my hand so I will hand you over to him.”

“Will you?” I asked.

He looked down at me, his expression unreadable.

“I do not give up assets that belong to me,” he said.

“I am not an asset,” I said, my jaw tightening.

“To the law, you are your father’s guarantor,” Damiano replied coldly. “To Marcus, you are a prize. To me, you are an opportunity.”

I took a step back, the leather of the sofa pressing against the back of my knees.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“Marcus is powerful, but he has enemies in the city council who want him gone,” Damiano said.

He set his glass down on the side table with a soft clink.